


Specters from the Past

by Cat_Moon



Category: Hardcastle and McCormick
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 02:54:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19309180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat_Moon/pseuds/Cat_Moon
Summary: An old prison pal of Mark's pays a visit, bringing up dark memories he'd rather forget and forcing him to face some things he'd just as soon leave in the past.





	Specters from the Past

**Author's Note:**

> Old story I wrote in 1994, as I try to slowly get more of my work posted on the archive. Contains Dub-Con, and sexual confusion, consider yourself warned.

 

 

_It was a gray day._

  
_The one glimpse he'd gotten of the outside world this morning showed an overcast sky, the heavens weeping mournful trickles that were soaked up by the earth below, as if in an act of redemption.  Even inside, the drab color permeated everything, the walls, his overalls--his soul.  It suited his mood perfectly._

  
_Mark McCormick lay on his bunk, content to spend his free hours staring at the gray ceiling.  A cockroach tried to defy gravity; he followed its attempts with lethargic interest until it disappeared into a hole near the ceiling._

  
_Mark's solitude was broken a few moments later.  His roommate strolled into the cell, mumbling a noncommittal greeting.  When he was in a fairly good mood, Mark supposed Grant Perkins wasn't a half bad guy, and that his situation could have been much worse.  But when he was at the end of a long rope down, like today, he knew it was bad enough._

 

_Rather than answer the greeting, Mark glanced at Grant morosely, then turned his rapt attention back to the ceiling.   He sensed Grant come closer, tried not to stiffen when he felt the friendly hand on his arm._

 

_"Have you thought about what I said?" Grant inquired in a quiet voice._

 

_Mark didn't answer._

 

_"C'mon, kid, you don't have the luxury of pretending this is just a bad dream.  You've gotta face facts--now.  Bum rap or no, you're stuck here."_

 

_"I know," Mark said in an almost inaudible voice.  He cursed his own vulnerability, in a prison full of hardened cons and feeling more like a scared ten-year old than one of them._

  
_"I'm not going to baby you, it would do more harm than good anyway.  It's me or them," Grant said in a rougher tone of voice.  To make him face reality--as if he had a choice.  "And believe me, you don't want to be a free agent much longer."  He patted the arm he still held, then turned and left the cell._

  
_Over and over, Mark's mind ran around the situation like a panicked rat in a maze, always ending up back where he started.  Still he doggedly kept at it, all the while knowing it was futile._

  
_Time was running out.  And there was no choice..._

 

 

+++++++++++++

  
   
 Mark put the hedge clippers down momentarily, wiping his arm across his sweaty face.  He squinted up into the sunlight, letting its brightness banish the gray mist of memory that lingered.  That accomplished, he stared out towards the distant blue of the ocean horizon.

 

_Grant...Grant, why do you have to come into my life again, now?_

  
 Grant Perkins, former cell-mate.  Former...he wasn't sure what to call it, hadn't had any inclination to give the relationship a name before.  And now, Grant was coming for a visit.  Here, to Gull's Way, bringing with him the specter of a past Mark had very carefully banished.  Making him remember, forcing him to think about those times, about himself.  About who and what he was.  If he really knew, it would have been easier.  In all the time spent with Grant, he'd never been able to define the relationship.  Now, the man had finished doing his time and was coming for a visit.

 

 Mark wasn't sure of anything right now, and it made him feel almost as vulnerable as...

  
_No, it's over!_

  
 The questions were nagging him day and night, interrupting his sleep.  It would be awkward having Grant there under the circumstances of their previous relationship.  Would Grant expect...?  And what about the judge?  Mark had made a few offhand references about keeping his back to the wall, but Hardcastle had no idea the truth of what had gone on, and Mark didn't want him to know.  He didn't know what the reaction would be, and Hardcase's opinion of him--respect of him--meant more than he cared to admit.

  
 "Hey, kiddo!"

  
 Mark jumped at the gruff voice that sliced into his reverie, spinning around.  "Judge, you almost gave me a heart attack!" he complained, holding his chest for good measure.

  
 Hardcastle dismissed this possibility with a vague hand movement.  "That young heart is as healthy as a horse.  Are you finished trimming the hedges yet?"

  
 Mark made an exaggerated production out of wiping his sweaty face again, making his voice sound as weary as possible.  "Yeah, Judge, it's finished."  He slumped a little in exhaustion, eyeing Hardcastle out of the corner of his vision.

  
 The judge paused, then spoke.  "Oh all right, come in the house and have some ice tea."  His voice was gruff too, but Mark could hear the affection underneath nevertheless.

  
 Grinning to himself, he followed the judge into the house.

 

++++++++++++++++++++

 

_"McCormick...hey, pretty boy."_

  
_He'd kept on walking, not looking back.  Then two sets of steel hands clamped around his arms._

  
_"Seems like you're gonna have to teach him about bein' friendly, Dom."  One of the hands slipped around his back, to the curve of his ass in an unmistakable rough caress.  He looked around desperately for the guards.  There were none in sight._

  
_"Take your hands off me."  He hoped he sounded tougher than he felt._

  
_"You're gonna feel a lot more than my hands, boy, so get used to it."  The fingers on his ass had squeezed painfully.  "You're too pretty to waste."_

  
_Then he was struggling, jerking free, swinging with all his might.  But he was outnumbered.  All he could hope for was to make it as hard for them as possible._

  
_From somewhere Grant had arrived, stopped them with a severe warning.  He couldn't have overpowered them, but he didn't have to.  Grant was a BMOC, a man they all listened to.  He had accomplished this not with brawn, but with connections.  He had incredible, mysterious connections to the outside world, and in prison, this was more valuable than muscle.  But he had made it clear that it was the only 'freebie' Mark was going to get._

 

_That very same night, Mark sold himself._

 

_**Be philosophical** , he told himself desperately as Grant pulled his pants down around his ankles, not unkindly shoving a pillow under his waist.  After all, his girlfriend had fucked him too -- right into the state pen, for a crime that was no crime--stealing his own car.  At least this fuck would be intermittent, not a twenty-four hour nightmare._

 

_Hands stroked the back of his head, his arms, soothingly.  "Take it easy, Mark.  It'll hurt less if you relax."_

  
_**Easy for him to say** , Mark thought, clenching his fingers in the sheet in apprehension.  Something slimy was poked into him with a rough finger and he panicked, tensing his muscles against the intruder.  But Grant didn't stop, just increased the pressure, forcing him to take two fingers, then three._

  
_"I've changed my mind," Mark said plaintively._

  
_"You want them to have you instead then?"_

  
_Mark bit down on his tongue to keep from whimpering at the pain that he knew was going to get much worse.  Grant was offering him a good deal, and they both knew it.  He was even being thoughtful, in his own way, which was better than the fate that awaited Mark if he didn't accept his protection.  Being branded as Grant's 'boy' was a damn sight better than being gang raped dry by at least three hulking cons.  And Grant had assured that there could be pleasure in it for him._

  
_But the incredibly large, hard...object forcing itself into him wasn't a bit pleasurable.  The pain was sharp and insistent, and just when he didn't  think it could get any worse, it did.  Fiery agony flared through his body, and he tried to cry out, to scream no, but the man's weight was pinning him down, forcing his face into the mattress..._

  
_Suddenly, the cell door was flung open.  A figure moved into the cell, a haloing light following him and making his features and identity obscure.  An impossibly large hand bore down onto Grant's neck, picking him up like a piece of annoying lint and tossing him away into the corner._

  
_"If you ever touch him again, I'll kill you!" a gruff yet somehow gentle voice boomed at the cowering Grant.  It was a familiar voice, and with wild elation Mark knew he was safe now._

  
_"It's all right," the voice continued to assure Mark, and he was pulled into strong arms and held as he cried out his wounds into the solid shoulder._

  
_Milton Hardcastle's shoulder..._

 

 

 

 Mark sat up abruptly, his frantically beating heart beginning to calm down when he realized he was in his dark bedroom in the gate house, not in a jail cell.  A soothing ocean breeze blew in from the window, cooling his sweating skin.  He took a deep, steadying breath, still shaking from reaction.

  
 The dream wasn't uncommon.  He'd had them often when he first got out of the stir, then it had faded with time, only to return when he got the news of Grant's impending visit.

  
 But it had never, never included Hardcastle before.

  
 His body and sheets were wet with sweat.  Afraid to go back to sleep right away, he welcomed the distraction of changing the bedding. Then he turned on the shower, letting the hot water stream away the tension in his body.

  
 What was he supposed to make of this new dream development?  He wasn't sure he wanted to know.  It wasn't like Grant had been cruel to him.  The relationship, albeit with a painful start, had become more pleasurable and less difficult, as Grant had promised.  He'd come through on all his promises.  Once word got around that Mark belonged to Grant, none of the other cons would dare lay a hand on him.  He got protection, and Grant got his needs satisfied.

  
_So did you_ , a little voice at the back of Mark's mind insisted on reminding him.

  
_Okay, so I enjoyed it.  What was I supposed to do, keep fighting it?  What would that have accomplished?_   In a prison full of only men, most of them were screwing each other.  A large majority, like himself, reverted right back into their previously heterosexual lifestyle upon release.  No big deal.  He thought he'd come to terms with it long ago.  Now, it was all coming back to haunt him.

  
 Still not ready to return to bed, Mark let himself in the back door of the main house, heading to the refrigerator for a glass of milk and piece of cake.

 

 Out of nowhere he suddenly yearned for a John Wayne movie, longed for the security and familiarity of sitting in the den with Hardcastle, watching the Duke and eating popcorn and ice cream.  The easy companionship, sinking into the old leather chair that felt as comforting as a womb.

  
 He was taking out the milk bottle when the light suddenly snapped on.  The bottle slipped from his fingers to shatter on the floor, and he spun around, peering owlishly at the intruder.

  
 Hardcastle stood there in his pajamas and robe, gazing at Mark with surprise and the beginning of concern.

  
 "Are you gonna make a habit of this, Judge?!" Mark complained peevishly, stepped out of the puddle he was standing in.

  
 He was bending down to pick up the pieces of glass when his hand was swatted away.  "Be careful, you'll cut yourself!" Hardcastle scolded him as he might a child.  He shooed Mark out of the way and got the broom and dust pan, sweeping up glass and milk to dump into the trash.

  
 "Sorry Judge," Mark said contritely, sitting down at the table.

  
 "No use crying over spilt milk," Hardcastle said with an exaggerated grin.  Mark groaned his opinion of the joke, finding a genuine grin on his own face.  Damned if he didn't feel better already.

  
 "I don't suppose there's any John Wayne flicks on tonight," Mark said without much hope.

  
 "Not till next week," Milt answered.  Working on that strange empathy they often had, he brought out the cake Mark had been planning on having a piece of, along with a carton of chocolate milk.

  
 "I didn't know that was in there!" Mark said reproachfully, eyes widening at the milk.

  
 "I know.  If you had, it would have been gone by now.  I hid it in the back."

  
 When everything was on the table, they got down to the serious business of devouring their midnight snack.

  
 "You're awfully jumpy lately," Hardcastle remarked in a studiously casual tone.

  
 Mark saw through the casualness for what it was.  An offer of a sympathetic ear.  He wished he could confide in his friend, but that was a big part of the problem.  He was terrified the judge would find out what had gone on...and feel differently about him.

  
 John Wayne was a _real_ man, Hardcase was fond of saying.  It was a good bet _he_   wouldn't have bent over for another man in prison.  Just imagining telling Hardcastle about it spread the warmth of shame over Mark's face.

  
 Then a non-painful memory surfaced, making Mark grin.  In the beginning, he'd been distrustful of Hardcastle, suspicious of what the strange judge was offering.  A judge, wanting a young man to live with him...for a moment thinking the judge was proposing...well, the same kind of deal he'd just left behind.  It hadn't taken him long to realize how very wrong he'd been.

  
 "What are you grinning at?" the man in question asked warily.

  
 "Nothing, Judge, I'm fine," Mark assured him.  Yes, he'd quickly figured out how absurd that assumption was.  _He doesn't want my body as a sex slave, just a slave_ , Mark reflected with a touch of something suspiciously like regret flickering through him.  The incongruous thought startled him so, he began to choke on his mouthful of cake.

  
 Hardcastle was up and around the table, pounding his back what he thought was helpfully.  Mark took a drink of chocolate milk to wash down the cake.  "I'm fine, judge," he said.

  
 "You've been saying a lot of that lately," he observed, watching Mark with eyes that said he didn't believe the assurances for a moment.

  
 The judge was shrewd, there wasn't much anyone could put past him.  Mark settled for a half-truth, hoping Grant's visit wouldn't stir up too many other, uncomfortable truths.  "It's just...Grant's visit is bringing up a lot of...unpleasant memories for me."

  
 "That part of your life is over," Hardcastle said with uncommon vehemence.  "You've turned your life around, started over."

  
 "Yeah, now I only steal for you," Mark joked with a grin.

  
 "I don't want you pulling any more of those kind of stunts!"  The judge scowled at him good-naturedly.

  
 With chilling clarity, Mark realized another reason he couldn't let Hardcastle find out.  He was the judge that had sent Mark to prison in the first place.  Beneath his tough-as-nails exterior, Mark knew the judge felt--if not guilty (he steadfastly insisted that all his decisions were 'correct' within the limits of the law)--then at least bad that Mark had done time for a crime he was innocent of.  If he found out what had happened to Mark as a result of that decision...he might feel responsible.

  
 No, Mark couldn't let him find out.

  
 "You're usually happy to see one of your old 'buddies' again," the judge noted with hawk eyes trained on him still.

  
 Mark shrugged what he hoped was casually.  "Yeah, and they usually get me in trouble."  It was also partly the truth.  He really had no idea why Grant wanted to see him.  He had been an okay guy, but there was always the possibility he was in money trouble, a little blackmail might not be above him.  Or to take up the relationship where they'd left off...in which case, he might seek retribution for a rejection.  Or, he could just be passing through and genuinely want to visit an old friend.  Mark just didn't know.

  
 "We could put on the John Wayne video tape you got me last Christmas, we haven't watched that one in awhile," Hardcastle suggested.  
 Again, Mark's mood lightened with alacrity, for so little reason  it was almost pathetic. "I'll get the popcorn," he said with a smile as Hardcastle left the kitchen.

 

+++++++++++++++++++++

 

  As usual when an event has been built up in one's mind and fed by fears and worries, the real thing was rather anti-climactic.

  
 They stood outside the house watching Grant get out of his car, Hardcastle in undisguised curiosity and Mark with disguised trepidation.  His palms were sweaty.  He wiped them surreptitiously on his jeans, cursing himself for not picking out a looser pair.  It had taken him nearly an hour to choose what to wear this morning, discarding one outfit as too provocative, another as too formal.  It was ridiculous, he   kept repeating to himself like a mantra.  He was probably about to find out that all this misery was for nothing.

  
 The man walking towards them hadn't changed much -- but then Mark realized with a jolt that it hadn't really been very long.  That alternately frightened and awed him.  His life had changed so much already, those days seemed like eons ago.  He relaxed a little.  He wasn't the same person anymore.  This Mark was in control of his life.

  
_No, Hardcase is in control of your life_ , his common sense contradicted him.  In any case, Hardcastle's 'protection' (if one could call it that, Mark noted with wry humor) was very different from Grant's.

  
 Before he could stop it, his mind decided to take the thoughts the next step farther.  Grant's protection had been sex...love.  The judge's was, "Mark, do this, Mark, do that," risking his life chasing dangerous criminals when he wasn't using him for slave labor.  A cloud moved in over Mark's too-fleeting optimism, and the anger he often felt overshadowed the previous feelings.

  
 He was becoming concerned about these mood swings.

  
 "Hey -- Skid!"  Grant grinned widely as he approached, obviously pleased to see him.  Mark tried very hard not to stiffen when he was suddenly grabbed in an enthusiastic bear hug.  "It's great to see you again!"

  
 "It's good to see you again, too," Mark said quietly when he was released.  For a distraction, he turned to the judge.  "Grant, this is Judge Milton Hardcastle.  My keeper," he grinned maliciously.

  
 Unperturbed, Hardcastle shook the offered hand.  "I'm always glad to meet a man who's paid his debt to society and turned his life around."

  
 Mark rolled his eyes.  But there was the difference between guys like him and guys like Grant, he reflected sourly.  Grant had been able to breeze through prison as king of the jungle, no one after his ass at every turn.  Did his time for a crime he did commit with relative ease and got out a completely free man.  Mark on the other hand, was forced into hell an innocent man, forced to chose a male lover to avoid rape.  Getting out on parole, only to end up in another kind of prison.  For his non-existent crime, he'd continue to pay for a long time to come.

  
 Life just wasn't fair.

  
 Blinking out of his pensiveness, Mark was startled at the direction his thoughts had been wandering in.  Mood swings indeed, just last night he was pulling the comfort of life at Gull's Way around him like a security blanket.  Today he was complaining.  It wasn't that life was so bad with the Judge.  He just wished...  He didn't know what it was,  only a vague discontent.

  
 "Earth to Mark," Grant was teasing, lifting his chin.

  
 Mark shrugged out of the grasp.  "I hope you're hungry, 'cause Hardcastle already put the steaks on the grill."  Covering his discomfort, he walked on ahead, leading the way to the back patio.

 

 

+++++++++++++++++

  

 Dinner had gone fairly well.  The judge seemed to like Grant well enough, and the conversation never strayed close to anything remotely dangerous.  Hardcastle talked to Grant about his plans for the future, and he and Mark made small talk about what fellow inmates were doing.  Having Hardcastle there acted like a buffer.  It was almost easy for Mark to relax, to pretend Grant had been just a cell mate.  
 Before he knew it, dinner was over and he was showing Grant to the gate house.  He pleaded tiredness and beat a hasty retreat upstairs after fixing up the folding cot for Grant.  If he noticed Mark's odd behavior, he didn't comment.

  
 In the safety of his bedroom, Mark prayed the night would be dreamless...

 

 

_Mark huddled on his bunk in the darkness, wishing for sleep to grant him temporary sanctuary, yet afraid to give up consciousness.  The place seemed to echo with malevolent noises, any of which might prove a threat.  The tears, the threats, the evil and unfamiliar surroundings pressed in until he felt he'd scream._

  
_He heard a whimpering sound that couldn't have been coming from him.  Starting to shake, he curled into a tighter ball, moaning in misery._

  
_Then Grant was there, bringing a reprieve of sorts.  A promise of security.  And in one resigned but terrifying moment, Mark bowed to the inevitable.  He felt the familiar hands roam his body, demanding a response without asking.  It was still too new, the remembered pain was fresh in his mind.  He cried in protest, struggling to evade the intrusive embrace._

  
_Oddly he knew what would come next, welcomed it with sick relief.  The cell door opened, and there was that bright light filling the room with warmth and security.  Hardcastle wrenched Grant off of Mark's helpless body, tossing him aside.  Mark reached out for comfort blindly, not caring whether he appeared weak or not.  Only knowing he needed._

  
_Hardcastle's rock hard arms wrapped around his heaving shoulders, his voice murmured soothing words of nonsense.  Mark was hit by the unfamiliar but welcome tenderness emanating from the usually stoic Judge.  He relaxed into the sensations, sighing._

  
_A jolt of shock ran through him as he felt one of the hands around his shoulder move lower, where they'd never ventured before.  The comforting caresses became more intimate...and before his startled brain had a chance to realize what was happening, fingers were stroking his... He gasped in horrified shock, watching in disbelief as the fingers awoke desire in him.  He moaned, his head thrashing on the pillow -- in denial or desire, he knew not which.  It felt so good..._

 

 

 Mark shot upright in bed, waking with all the abruptness of being doused with a bucket of cold water.  Several realizations crashed down on him at once, making him feel faint.  The lingering effects of the terrifying dream -- the new direction of the dream -- and the very real fingers that were coaxing his flesh.

  
 He jerked out of Grant's reach, grabbing the blanket to cover himself.

  
 "Mark," Grant began nervously.  "I--I'm sorry.  You were dreaming, and..."

  
 "We're not in the joint anymore," Mark said with a steadiness that amazed him.

  
 "I know.  Listen,"

  
 If he had to talk about this now he'd scream for sure.  Mark interrupted him.  "It's late, go back to bed.  We'll both forget this ever happened."

  
 For a moment, Grant seemed about to say more.  Finally, he nodded and did as told.

 

 +++++++++++++++++++++

 

 

 The cool night air was slightly chilly, but Mark welcomed the enervating effect.  He dribbled the basketball down the court, aiming and making a perfect shot into the basket.  For the first time, he thought he understood why Hardcase played in the middle of the night. A quiet place to think.

  
 He stepped outside of himself and took an objective look, wryly amused at how quickly he'd picked up the judge's habits.  Despite everything, life was very comfortable there with Milt.  He'd never really had a 'place' in this world, not like he had at Gull's Way.  For the first time in his life, he really felt as if he belonged somewhere.  He finally admitted to himself how important that was to him.  He couldn't lose it.

  
 He sunk another basket absently, then stood to watch the moths flutter around the light.

  
 "Nice shot," a quiet voice commented.

  
 Mark looked, not really surprised to see Milt standing there.  "I figured I'd keep _you_ awake for a change," he said with feigned impudence.

  
 "Pass it over here," Milt said, holding out his hands.  Mark threw him the ball and he took a shot.  It rebounded off the rim and went in.

  
 They didn't start a game, just took turns making shots.

  
 "You come out here when there's a lot on your mind and you can't sleep, don't you Judge?" Mark asked after a while.

  
 "Helps, doesn't it?"

  
 "I guess." 

 

Hardcastle missed a long throw, losing the ball to Mark.  "Grant seems like a pretty nice guy," the judge said lightly.

  
 "I guess."

  
   "I think he's gonna keep his nose clean this time.  Like you, he was young when he got in trouble."

  
 "Yeah, but the difference between us is _he_ committed a crime," Mark said sullenly.

  
 "I couldn't let you off, kid, the evidence was against you.  Besides, I didn't even know you then--"

  
 "I know," Mark cut in, "I'm sorry, I know it wasn't your fault."  He made his basket, and passed the ball to Hardcastle again.  "I'm just...forget it."

  
 "You know," the judge began very casually, "If you ever need to talk--about anything..."

  
 Touched beyond words by the caring voice, Mark swallowed a lump in his throat.  "It's enough just hearing that," he admitted in a weak voice.  "Now, are we gonna stand here like sissies, or are we gonna play a game of one-on-one?!" he asked in a loud tone.

  
 The judge sunk the basket.  "That's one point for me," he said as Mark chased him for the ball.

 

 

++++++++++++++++++

  

 Mark dug his toes into the wet sand at the water's edge, contemplating the gulls circling a small fishing boat in the distance.  He wished he could remember whose idea it had been for this little walk, his or Grant's.  After a breakfast where Hardcastle did most of the talking, they'd somehow ended up on the beach together.

  
 "I think we should have a talk, Mark," Grant said after watching him for awhile.

  
 Mark kept his eyes on the water.  "What about?"

  
 "I think you know.  I realize you don't want to talk about last night, but I think I'd better explain some things to you."

  
 Maybe it was best to face it head on, deal with it.  "I'm listening."

  
 "First of all, I'm sorry about what happened last night.  I wasn't...  You seemed to be having a bad dream, so I went up to wake you.  Then you called my name and you...well, I didn't mean for that to happen, but," he sighed.  "I like you, Mark.  I know you probably don't think I did, but I did, very much."

  
 "Listen, Grant--"

  
 "No, let me finish.  I can tell you have no interest in repeating the past.  Despite what your body said last night."

  
 Mark colored.  He was unwilling to face that particular item.  "Why did you come here?" he finally blurted the thing that had been on his mind.

  
 Grant smiled.  "To visit.  I've been paying visits to all my old cell mates since I got out."

  
 Relief made his knees weak.  "So I'm just one of the list," he said with mock reproach.

  
 Grant put a hand on his shoulder.  "Top of the list.  But I wasn't sure you'd want to see me."

  
 "Neither was I," Mark admitted.

  
 "You think you're hiding what's going on inside, but you aren't," Grant said.  "Not from me.  I don't know how I'd feel if I ran into Jake again."

  
 "Who's Jake?"

  
 There was a long pause.  "The man who initiated me."

  
 Mark turned to look at him.  "What?" he breathed.

  
 "I was like you when I first got in, Mark.  Young, scared.  I had no idea what was in store for me.  Jake took me under his wing and took care of me.  The way I did for you.  So I do understand."

  
 "You never told me..."

  
 "I didn't figure it would do any good--even if you _did_   believe me."

  
 They walked in silence for awhile, until Mark felt he had to speak.  "If that's true, then you know how it feels to be left without a choice.  To sell yourself for protection..."

  
 "I know how it feels," Grant said regretfully.  "I also understand that sometimes life has to be tough, in order for you to learn to survive.  You learned, Mark."

  
 "And you got your symbolic revenge on Jake?"

  
 "It wasn't like that!"  Grant paused, then grasped Mark's shoulders.  "You were so young, so vulnerable.  I didn't want to see you hurt.  And I...after Jake left, I...  C'mon, you're not a kid anymore, you know what it's like for a man to go without sex, especially if he's used to having it.  And I cared about you, very much.  I hoped you'd learn like I did, you can't fake something like that.  Just pretending wouldn't have done any good."

  
 "But I got out before you did."

  
 "Was it really that horrible?  Or is it just that it scares you to know you can respond to a man?"

  
 Knowing it was the truth, Mark couldn't answer.

  
 "Grow up," Grant said bitingly.  "It happens all the time in prison, most guys don't let it get to them."

  
 "The ones on the top, I bet."

  
 "You've been there, Mark."

  
 The words were quiet shouts.  Mark shook his head in denial of the half-formed memories nagging at the back of is mind.

  
 "You were on top too."

  
 "No!"  Mark got up and started to walk away, was stopped by a hand on his arm.

  
 Grant pulled him around, forcing him to look at him.  "After awhile, I let you take me too.  Because I didn't want you to feel...like I had with Jake."

  
 The images crashed over Mark like a wave.  Things he'd carefully banished from his memory.  What started out as something he was forced into doing had become...

  
 Probably interpreting the panic on Mark's face, Grant gentled his voice.  "It's not such a horrible thing.  It just means you're human.  I think you've grown up enough now, not to be insecure about your manhood."

  
 "You're right," Mark finally said in a tone of resignation.  "Besides, it's over now.  In the past."  _But what about the new direction of my dream?_

  
 They walked on further, the mood now lightened.  After an easy silence, Grant spoke again.  "Do you and Hardcastle always play basketball in the middle of the night in your pajamas?" he asked in amusement.

  
 "Hey, don't knock it till you've tried it."  Mark chuckled.  "He used to drive me crazy in the beginning, but I got used to it."

  
 "You two are really tight, aren't you?"

  
 Mark looked at him sharply, but the only thing in his face was innocent interest.  "Yeah, I suppose," he said uncomfortably.

  
 "I can tell from your tone of voice when you talk about him," Grant explained.

  
 Mark considered denying an accusation that hadn't even been made, but he decided against it.  He wouldn't be sure who he was trying to convince, anyway.

 

And so the visit ended as it had started, with Mark plagued by memories and confusion.

 

 

+++++++++++++++++++++ 

 

 The following Friday was a special day at Gull's Way.  The local station was having a John Wayne marathon.  Armed with enough food to survive in the wilderness for a week, Mark and the judge made themselves comfortable in the den.

  
 "Have you heard from Grant?" Hardcastle asked while they were waiting for the first movie to start.

  
 "I don't expect to, Judge.  He was just passing through, it's not like we're best buddies or anything.  Just cell mates."

  
 The judge sighed.  "I don't know how to do this, so I'm just gonna come right out and say it."  Mark looked at him with slight apprehension.  "I know what happened between you and Grant."

  
 The floor abruptly fell from beneath Mark's feet, and he felt a cold seeping through his body.  "What?" he heard himself say as if from a vast distance.

  
 "I sat on the bench for enough years to know what goes on in prison, I'm not naive.  And you were young,"

  
 Before he could continue, Mark jumped up and headed for the door.  "Whatever you're gonna say, I don't need to hear it."

  
 "I think you do.  That's why I brought it up--now sit down and hear me out!" Milt ordered.

  
 Against his will, Mark's feet obeyed.  He sat back on the chair and waited...for whatever.

  
 "I'm not trying to make either of us uncomfortable, believe me.  I just wanted you to know that it doesn't change anything with me.  And if you think it would, you're an idiot."

  
 Mark almost smiled at the gentle chastising.

  
 "So if that's all that's been bothering you these last few days, let's get back to the movie!" Hardcase concluded in his usual gruff tone.

  
 There was so much Mark wanted to say, rather than leave well enough alone.  "The Duke wouldn't have..." his foolish mouth said.

  
Hardcastle turned a sour look on him.  "In your position, he would've done the same thing--or he would've ended up dead.  And I'm just as glad you didn't."

  
 It was an expression of caring, ala' Hardcastle.  Mark's heart swelled, forcing him to further honesty.  "It wasn't...that bad," he began, stunned to realize he really meant it.  Getting it out in the open with Hardcastle--and having him understand--had done wonders.  "I mean--" he felt himself blushing, "after...I just wanted to you know that...it became mutually enjoyable," he finished in a rush to get it out.

  
 Hardcastle, to his credit, was handling the intimate conversation without any trace of distaste. He'd offered to listen, and he wasn't a man to go back on his word, even if the subject was something his stoic nature found uncomfortable.

  
 "It's no big deal, it wasn't the end of the world," Mark went on, trying to let the judge know there was nothing to feel guilty about--just in case he felt in any way responsible for Mark's experiences in prison.  "The only reason it was bothering me now was...well, I was afraid if you knew..." He bowed his head.

  
 "You're a good kid, Mark.  And I already told you this once before, but...I'm very proud of you."

  
 Did that gentle tone really come from Hardcastle?  Mark's eyes misted up.

  
 Then the tone changed.  "Now if you don't shut up and watch the movie, I'm gonna send you back to the gate house!" he yelled.  Mark tried very hard to keep from balling in happiness.  "Always talking through the movie..." Hardcastle mumbled to himself, raising the volume a fraction.

  
 Mark settled back to watch the movie, wondering if they'd ever get around to talking about this again.  If he'd ever be brave enough to look closely at the unexpected direction his dream had taken.  If they'd ever...

  
But he wouldn't worry about whatever might happen in the future.  For now, he was content.

 

 

  
the end

 

written 8/17/94

 


End file.
